


Always the worst timing, priest

by bericdondarrion



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bericdondarrion/pseuds/bericdondarrion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the asoiaf kink meme.<br/>Thoros gives Beric a little...encouragement before his fight with The Hound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always the worst timing, priest

**Author's Note:**

> Changed a bit of the canon setting as in, Beric and the Hound are supposed to fight with armour - to allow some time for teh sex.

 

 

> _Clegane’s mouth twitched. “My innocence against your breastplate, is that the way of it?”_

Thoros blinked once at Clegane's protests before quickly turning his gaze towards Beric. He always breathed easily when he was looking at him and he felt truly at home when he could touch him. He had nursed a negligent proclivity of fixing his eyes on the sight of his Lord. _His_. He liked to think that he was always able to understand him, to predict his movements and his words and his decisions, to know every inch of Beric.

 

Such was Thoros' way every time they were together, his vision and his world became Beric and only Beric, and they were always together. 

 

The Lightning Lord stood still, calm, his own eyes fixed on what threatened to be his next enemy before he opened his mouth slowly and Thoros knew he had predicted his decision this time, once again.

 

"Find him a breastplate that will suit him", Lord Beric's commanding voice vibrated against the walls of the Hollow Hill as a reluctant Lem pushed Clegane aside.

It was more than he deserved, perhaps, but Thoros knew Beric wouldn't allow any disadvantages, he had that reckless taste of honour in his mouth. Thoros himself had tasted it from Beric's lips, more than five times. 

 

He approached Beric as Ned nervously tried to help him with his breast plate, "I'll do it", he said kindly and the boy nodded and stepped aside. 

 

The Hollow Hill had become a true shelter for all kind of people who desired it so, for the smallfolk who had nothing left. A sanctuary for the elderly and the young, for men and women alike; so in time they had accommodated it to serve for everyone. The women and the ill required certain privacy so the Brotherhood had formed what reflected rooms inside the cave. It was the least they could do for those who had lost it all, _we couldn't prevent their villages to burn, their parents and children to die in front of their eyes_ , Beric had told him once, _a home - at least let us try to give them that. A home_.

 

This was their home.

 

Thoros pulled Beric into the corner, the small chamber, that he himself had been using - and therefor, that Thoros himself would use more often than not. Whenever the wounds were too dreadful for the common eye and Beric refused to be seen by the others, only Thoros and Ned were allowed with him. It could do no good, Thoros admitted, if his men were to see death itself on the body of his leader. 

 

Some things were meant to be kept in the darkness and The Hollow Hill was a very dark place. Full of hope, yes, and of decay. Hope had its own dimness in times of war, it could feed them with wormwood and kill them all, if they weren't careful. 

 

Once they were inside, Thoros removed the old cloak that covered Beric's deteriorating body. It was the same cloak he had been using the first time they met, ages ago in some tournament that mattered little now. 

"Are you sure about this?", he muttered. "It hasn't been long since - since the last time". Beric's gaze didn't rise from the spot on the ground were it was fixed. Thoros knew better, of course, he knew Beric was stronger than the last time, even if the marks on his body told otherwise. It didn't ease his worries, however, his fears - fears of losing him after too many deaths because how many were too many?.

 

Five times already and each time was harder. 

 

"I doesn't have to be you". Thoros tried again, "You could have Lem or Anguy-", Beric shook his head before giving his friend a dismal look.

"You know Clegane, I know him as well, nobody will be able to defeat him and I won't order them to fight my own battles". 

Thoros grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around with utter care, as he always treated Beric. The feared leader of the Brotherhood Without Banners, and yet Thoros could not bring himself to see him as anything but a fragile body hanging from feeble threads of fire. 

He sighed and Beric didn't even flinch as Thoros hands ran across his bare chest, tracing light patterns over the contours of his ribs and to the wound on his side. The first one. "Then try not to die this time", he breathed as he brought his lips to the other's ear, "It seems to me that you have acquired a taste for death".

"I have not". Thoros leaned down to kiss Beric's lips. 

 

He had lost count of how many times they had kissed like this, when it wasn't true burning fire what followed down Beric's throat, when it was just them, without Death trailing behind. He remembered a silly man's lust when he met the boy, when he was still a boy and when they shared a mission that seemed just a mission. Beric was young and beautiful as the summer knight he used to be and Thoros had many urges but he disregarded those concerning his young leader. One particular hot night he smiled to himself and found a baker's daughter to spend the night with before they reached the Trident. 

But then Beric died and Thoros brought him back and everything that happened before that was forgotten, replaced by shadows. Whatever carnal desires he felt turned divine and somewhere along the way he decided that he loved him, _his_ God. He was convinced that he had found the most needed warrior of light but he was reluctant to shove him into the world. He had mentioned it once to Beric, Azor Ahai, but theories and religious talk were soon buried beneath the layers of Beric's need to bring justice to the lands, to fight for the people. And Thoros didn't fancy sharing him with the entire World anyway. 

 _His_. He was his God and his religion. His brother and his lover both. He knew he had left half of his soul inside of him the first time he brought him back and he knew it because it was only when he was completely inside him that he felt whole, truly whole. But it was what Beric had whispered against his ear after the first time they laid together that had convinced Thoros of the divinity of their love. He said... that he felt alive again.

 

Thoros didn't notice who got rid of each other's trousers but he didn't question it. He pushed Beric against the mattress there and paid no heed to Beric's smirk, "Always the worst timing, priest". Thoros chuckled before sliding inside his Lord. 

He felt Beric pressing closer against him, his breathing was uncannily quiet but it was there, he could feel him wanting more of Thoros, of who had become his only healer; his desires were testament that he was still and against all odds, alive.

This, Thoros could do, to help him win, give him encouragement, so to speak. Pounding into him over and over seemed to increase the fire, Beric felt warmer, spilling his seed into him burned just right. He felt closer to whatever fire god had given him this gift and had cursed Beric this way. Fire was what gave him strength and Thoros was the source of that fire. They both knew this, they both had accepted it, welcomed it. If The Lord of Light meant for them to become one, they had accomplished it with utter godliness. 

Beric threw his head back as Thoros bit softly against his neck, "Don't die". 

"I won't". Beric breathed back. 


End file.
